


The Mountain - Related Requests

by TheMusicalHermit



Series: Tumblr Transfers [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drunkenness, F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Request Fill, The Mountain!Reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-27 01:31:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13870227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMusicalHermit/pseuds/TheMusicalHermit
Summary: Requested stories set within the context of my fic,The Mountain





	1. Try and Resist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: How would junkrat react to your OC getting super handsy when she’s drunk and he’s trying real hard to resist?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found writing a fanfiction based on my own fanfiction to be hilarious at the time, and I still do. The original posting of this was December 30, 2017, and I edited the date here to reflect that. For reference, that is between chapters 13 and 14 of _The Mountain._
> 
>  _This is non-canonical to_ The Mountain. _This is just a fun request fill._

You were drunk. You shouldn’t have raided the small treasure trove of alcohol, but you did. You had wanted to relax a bit after another long day. And now you were! Relaxed, that is. So, that’s a win.

Your head felt simultaneously too heavy and too light as you stumbled about, thinking offhandedly that this was like swimming through air. Which makes sense! _Obviously_ air is a material you swim through daily. It’s just not described as such because of reasons you couldn’t bring yourself to care about right now!

You should tell Jamis- _Jamie_ \- he _can_ swim. Just through air instead of water.

You laughed at his pinched, confused expression, reaching down to pat him on the cheek. “C’mon, it’s fu _nny_ ,” you whined, clutching his jaw and pursing his lips between your forefinger and thumb.

His eyes (his _beautiful_ hazel eyes of gold) blinked up from where he sat and then narrowed. He breathed in deeply, brow furrowing as his nose wrinkled at the smell of your breath.

“You’re right pissed up, ain’t ya,” Jamie said, moving up to catch your wrist and pull it away from his face.

You gasped, reeling back and covering your mouth with a flat palm. “Wha- no! I’m not angry.”

“Pissed up means sozed, babe,” he said.

Your dramatic reel back was apparently _over_ -dramatic. This became clear to you as you started to fall over backwards. Jamie chuckled as he tugged your arm to right you. Instead you fell into his lap, _obviously_ too drunk to stay upright.

Obviously. You totally hadn’t done that on purpose.

He squawked in surprise all the same as your arms went to wrap about his neck, your head nuzzling into his neck.

You hummed, lips pursed in thought against his collarbone. “You just defi- defined a slang word with another one. That’s not fair,” you slurred as you tilted up to stare into his eyes once more. All other thoughts flew out of your head. “Oh, I’m not sure what I should do with you now.”

Jamie laughed. “Yanno what, I was thinking the exact same thing. _Haha!_ Well, I’ve got a few ideas…”

That piqued your interest. That piqued your interest hard.

“Oh?” You bit your lip, moving closer and straddling his lap. He gulped as you leant down to brush your lips against his. “And what… ideas do you have?”

If his hands clutched your hips any tighter they were sure to leave marks, the tiny sober part of your brain said. The rest of your brain shouted that that was fine; if anything he should make more.

Jamie was almost shaking under your arms, staring with blatant want at your slightly parted lips. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmured as he moved closer.

His lips caught yours loosely for a split second before he started giggling and moved back, sporting another conflicted look.

You weren’t having any of that, though, and followed him. “C’mon, Jamie, I want this,” you whined.

When he tried to speak next, his voice cut off in a moan as you nibbled on his lower lip, pulling at it. He gulped and managed to push you away a few centimetres. “Y-you never call me Jamie,” he said, one hand smoothing up your side. “You’re drunk.”

You giggled, pressing your forehead into his shoulder as you did so. “No I’m not,” you protested in a sing-song voice as you shot back up, almost clipping his chin with your head. “I’m _tip_ sy.”

His glare was your only warning before he stood up, holding you with one arm under your knees and the other around your shoulders. “So, drunk.”

“No,” you whined, “just, just mostly drunk. There. Is. A. _Difference._ ” His disbelieving snort dismissed your complaint almost before you’d finished it.

Your arms were still about his neck and, as he walked through the cabin you had taken shelter in for the night, you used this fact in the best way possible. This way of course being to lift yourself up and continue trying to kiss him.

“You know you’re a good kisser,” you murmured against his lips. “I bet you’re good in bed, too.”

Breathing in harshly through his nose, Jamie tore his mouth away from yours with a groan. “Turn it up,” he spit out through clenched teeth. “I’m already on me last leg here.”

“Turn it up,” you asked. “Does that mean I need to try harder to seduce you? Because I can.”

Jamie’s answer, whatever it was going to be, ended in a strangled moan as you leant in to lick his neck.

“Bloody hell, ain’t you hot for it when shit-faced,” Jamie said as he entered the bedroom, chuckling slightly as he moved to toss you over his shoulder instead. “Too bad for you that I’ve got too much experience with this kinda stuff.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” you whined.

“Means I ain’t gonna smash your back out if I’m not sure you’ll remember it. Don’t wanna deal with any screaming in the morning and then you ignoring me ‘till fuck knows.” He chuckled again as he threw you on the bed. “But fuck me if this ain’t something right the fuck outta me dreams.”

You bounced once, sending dust flying, and the world seemed to dance as your eyes lost focus for a moment.

“I’ll be able to remember,” you said. The confident words were undone slightly as you slurred and flipped unsteadily to your knees. Your hands shot to his belts, tugging him closer as you fumbled at the clasps. “I’ve thought about this a lot, Jamie.”

The man in question groaned with desire again, hands coming up and hovering a few centimetres from your head as he stared down at you with hooded eyes. But then he shook himself and, slapping your hands away, said “That’s bonzer, love. Now, why don’t you just stay here —” He caught your wrists and pressed them into the mattress “— while’s I go get something what you really need, okay?”

You hummed, putting on a pensive facade. Jamie’s darkened eyes flickered over your face distractedly, and you took the initiative to place a peck on his lips. He shuddered and moved forward to kiss you fervidly. Then you bit him, earning a whine that left you laughing drunkenly.

With that he moved away as if you had burned him and took two steps back, hands cupping over his lower face in a praying position. “I _need_ , no, y-you need,” he stammered. Pausing, he looked away as he bit his tongue. Closing his eyes as he held his hands out flat, he said, “I need to go get you something. Don’t move.”

You giggled, recapturing his attention. Licking your lips, you laid on your back in a slow sprawl. The heat in his eyes rose as you stretched across the bed, stroking your hands up your sides before stretching them above your head. Smiling up at him, you noted his teeth were digging into his lower lip as his hands clenched repeatedly by his sides.

“Alright,” you laughed, waving him off. “I’ll be waiting.”

He disappeared from sight like a shot, peg leg clanking as he ran. You were dimly aware of the door opening and slamming shut, but didn’t focus on that too much. You sang to yourself snippets of your favourite songs, waving your hands through the air and marvelling at how graceful they seemed in the still free-whirling room.

You let them fall back to your stomach with a small thud. Where was Jamie? You wanted to fuck him, and were finally unafraid to admit it.

The sober part of your brain shouted out a list of warnings before you drunkenly shushed yourself, the noise echoing through the room. You chuckled, fingers trailing up and down your stomach as you imagined Jamie coming back with something fun (and sexy). And then fucking you.

You yawned, blinking at the wooden rafters above. He was taking a while. Maybe he had forgotten? Or maybe this was one of his ideas - leave you wanting in revenge or something. Maybe to heighten the need? Did he have the patience for it? You didn’t _think_ so.

Suddenly Jamie reappeared, clutching a water bottle in both hands. You fought to sit up, smiling at him and twirling a finger on the blankets beneath you. “Jamie,” you exclaimed. “You’re back! I thought you’d left!”

“Holy bloody _fuck_ ,” he muttered to himself, one hand shaking as it ran through his sparse hair. You smiled again, eyes flicking to the tenting fabric of his trousers. You licked your lips and laughed quietly when he flinched, following the movement of your tongue.

Then his other hand thrust the water bottle towards you as he averted his gaze. “H-here, darl. Drink this.”

Scrambling to your knees again, you caught his hand against the water bottle as you drank. His attention shot back to you, watching your half-lidded expression expression with wide and dark eyes. You took several long sips before leaning back to declare “This is just water.”

“Y-yeah,” Jamie tittered. “W-well, whadidya expect? More grog?”

You laughed, remembering an old film. “What are you, an orc,” you questioned as you fell back, rolling about in mirth.

Jamie’s laugh was stilted. “I don’t know what an orc is,” he said as he sat to your left, carefully avoiding touching you as he held the water bottle in your line of sight. “But I do know ya need to finish this ‘fore ya go ta sleep.”

“Will you be sleeping with me again,” you purred, rolling over on your stomach and pressing up against his leg like a giant cat. “I’m feeling a bit cold.”

Jamie froze, staring down at you with an expression bordering on shock. “No, darl,” he said, voice hoarse. He coughed to clear his throat before continuing. “No, you’re pissed up. Sozed. Drunk. It wou-wouldn’t be right.”

“Shit, dude,” you whined, flipping to your back again on the hard mattress and rubbing a hand along his lower back, feeling the muscles stiffen under your touch. “You’re picking a weird time to play the gentleman.”

He laughter was low and dark as he turned to hover over you, supporting his weight over you with one hand above your head and holding the water bottle to your lips with the other. “I ain’t being a gentleman for shits and giggles,” he growled, his left leg shifting to curl over and between your knees. “I’m being _smart_. Don’t want you throwing a wobbly tomorrow when ya don’t remember how much ya wanted it. Now _drink_.”

You drank again, closing your mouth around the water bottle’s as you stared up at Jamie. His heady eyes were focused on your lips. A loud groan escaped his mouth when you shifted to slide your leg _innocently_ up to his crotch, where you innocently rocked it with slow, tentative movements.

Okay, so perhaps innocent wasn’t the right word.

However, it got you what you wanted. Jamie’s growl of frustration came only seconds before he threw the water bottle over his shoulder and captured your mouth in a biting kiss. His leg shifted up, rocking against your core as he rutted on your thigh.

You groaned at the feel of his hardened length, feeling a coil of pleasure grow with each press of his thigh between yous. And then Jamie’s hands were roaming over you. More accurately, his left hand was. His right hand was anchored at the back of your head, pulling you up to him even as he pressed down on the itchy sheets. The other hand danced down your chest, grasping and pulling blindly along the way, to clutch at your hip. 

Your eyelids fluttered as he dragged you more forcefully against his body. Through your lashes, you saw him watching you with dark eyes.

The sound of the bed creaking and your fevered breathing filled the room. This was it - you were finally going to see if reality lived up to fantasy. You moaned with abandon at the prospect. He answered with a loud moan of his own and a broken stutter of your name.

“Fuck,” Jamie panted as he broke away from your mouth to pepper bruising kisses down your throat. “Oh, _shit_ , I want you so _bad_. You’re so good, love, so, so good.”

Your arms came up, pressing him close as you hooked your leg around his waist. The action opened your body to him. Jami wasted little time in shifting to press his hips against yours, his kisses growing sloppier. Both of you groaned, pausing to look each other in the eye.

Jamie gave another experimental grind as he held your gaze, the tip of his tongue peeking out of a small, open-mouthed smile. You shuddered, eyes rolling back as you enjoyed the feeling of his clothed cock pressing against you.

Humming in pleasure, you curled around him and pressed your foreheads together, whispering, “You want me? Then take me.”

Jamie shifted up to his knees, hovering over you as his hands slid to your waist. He dragged your lower body up with him, an act that made you both moan again. Staring down at you with a dark haze in his eyes, he questioned, “Will ya remember this?”

The next thing you knew your torso was bare with your trousers and underpants around one knee. Jamie was swearing up a storm against your mouth in between messy, harsh kisses. His fingers thrust into you over and over again, bringing you closer to cumming with each slide, his thumb swirling over your clit. His metal hand was on your chest. The prosthetic moved with surprising gentleness as he pinched, pulled, and pressed, working out in record time what you reacted to best.

You cried out his name, toes curling against the back of his thighs while your fingernails raked across his back. When had he taken off his jumper?

Your next bout of awareness came as Jamie groaned your name into the crook of your neck, slowly sliding into you. You hissed at the sensation. God, his cock filled you so _well_.

Jamie’s metal arm was around your waist, holding your hips at an angle that made you writhe in pleasure as he pressed in. His other arm was crossed behind your back. His chipped fingernails dug into your shoulder. You could feel his heart beating scant centimetres from your own.

Shuddering against you with a hiss, Jamie bottomed out and held for a moment. His lips and teeth scraped over your skin, murmuring words you couldn’t quite make out over the pounding of your heart. You hummed, hands roaming his back and threading their way into his uneven hair.

Jamie whined, making his way up your throat with small licks, nips, and open-mouthed kisses to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “ _Fuck_ , you’re amazing,” he whispered, staring into your eyes.

Even through the haze of alcohol you blushed and turned away. “Shut up and fuck me already,” you said, bucking up against him.

His hips rolled against yours, lips falling to your ear and filling it with his pants and moans. Then he was saying something. Something that sounded like your name. Your name, and a four letter word you weren’t sure you wanted to hear (not yet). But you couldn’t focus on it, instead concentrating on the sensations rocketing through you as you clutched at him and whined.

You awoke the next morning feeling better than you had in a year and only mildly confused as to why you were naked. You remembered snippets of last night, but nothing much.

You _did_ remember seeing Jamison naked and that you had asked for it. However, that was about it. This disappointed you, and, thinking over what you did recall in the cold light of morning, all you could feel was shame at your wanton behaviour.

The door was kicked open with a thud, revealing a beaming Jamison wearing nothing but his trousers. He walked into the room with a couple of prepared MREs. “Oh, g’morning darl! _Haha_ , finally awake, ay?” He smiled at you as he walked to the bed and held out one of the warm containers. “Figured you’d like a bit of a lie in. So’s I went and got ya some nice tucker - lucky you, getting brekkie in bed!”

He chuckled at his own teasing, but his smile faltered when you pulled the blankets up and shielded your chest. Clearing his throat, he stood in front of you with a creased brow as he stared at the food in his hands. Then, as was typical, he cracked a grin and laughed.

“So, ah, what d’ya remember from last night,” he asked, placing your portion on the bed next to your feet.

You reached out a hand to pick up your food. He went to lean against the far wall and watched you as he began to eat. Pinning the cloth to your body with your elbows, you began to pick at your own meal.

“I remember I asked for it, at least,” you said.

Jamison’s grin was wan and drawn, but he spoke in a cheery tone. “Hey, at least y’ain’t throwing a wobbly, love.” He giggled, looking away as he downed a large bite. “Least y’ain’t throwing a wobbly.”


	2. I Really Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Alright alright, so you’ve written the mountain reader with trash baby when they were drunk. How would it be like if junkrat was this time the one who’s gotten drunk and getting handsy? How would the mountain reader deal with that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this one as amusing to write as the first. It's funny, writing fanfiction for my own fanfiction. Originally written January 29, 2018, and the time stamp has been edited to reflect that. For reference, that is between chapters 13 and 14 of _The Mountain_.
> 
>  _This is non-canonical to_ The Mountain. _This is just a fun request fill._

You should have known that Jamison was not a man to hold his liquor well. You should have taken that large dusty bottle away from him as soon as he announced that it tasted alcoholic. But you hand’t believed him. It had been milk! Who ferments _milk?!_

“Ay darl, c’mere,” he drawled from where he leant against a post, sloshing the bottle towards you. “You, you gotta try this shit. It’s weird as fuck at first, but just, just trust me. Really hits all the good spots.” 

His hum turned into a giggle as he leant forward. “Best grog I’ve had in years.” 

“So is that drink grog,” you asked as you rifled through the cabinets, searching for some food. He just giggled again.

Would throwing him outside be necessary? Would you even want to do that to him? 

The wind banged on the door of the small two room cottage as if to remind you that throwing Jamison outside in a storm would mean his death. 

So the answer to those questions was no, then. Okay. Time to focus on getting something solid in his stomach, and then water. 

The clanking of his peg leg grew louder. You could feel his eyes trailing over your back as you stretched up to search one of the upper shelves. The bottle clanked on the counter next to one of your hips as his left hand closed over the other. 

Your back stiffened as Jamison leaned into you, resting his chin on your shoulder and sliding his arm around your waist. His words came on the tail end of a groaning sigh. “Nah. Dunno exactly what this is. _Haha!_ An’ grog’s just booze, love. And I think, I think that you should try some.” 

His lips and nose trailed over the back of your neck. Your hands clenched on the closest shelf. You told yourself to ignore the soft kisses he was leaving. Ignore the way you could feel his muscles pressing into your back. Ignore how he was a human furnace. Ignore how he was pulling your hips back against his own. Ignore the foolish idea of pressing back against him… 

The mouth of the bottle against your lips broke your train of thought. “C’mon darl.” Jamison pressed the bottle to you insistently. “Have some.” 

Your hand covered his own as you tried to push away the foul smelling liquid. You laughed nervously, feeling his fingers start to play with the hem of your shirt as he turned his face into the crook of your neck. “I’m not sure I want any.”

Jamison whined and simply redoubled his efforts to bring the bottle to you. “C’mon, drink.” His teeth and wind-chapped lips scraped over your flesh as he spoke. “Sharing’s caring, innit?” 

“So is listening to people when they say they don’t want any,” you said, attempting to push away from the cabinets. Jamison laughed loudly into your shoulder and pinned you against the counter again. “Jamison, let me go.” 

“All’s I want is for you ta have, have some grog.” He tittered, and began rhyming as his fingers tapped a rhythm on your hipbone. “Grog, frog, bog, dog, nog, snog…” 

He giggled again and went silent. The bottle clanked loudly where he slammed it down. 

“I’ve got an _idea_ ,” he said, sounding half-mad. 

“And what is your _oh_ -so- _clever_ idea,” you said as you tried to pry his hand from your waist. 

“Gimme a snog, a pash, and I’ll not try ta share with ya no more.” That was not an idea meriting such a gleeful tone. 

“So your brilliant idea is to either get me drunk with you, or to kiss me?” 

“No.” Jamison giggled. “My idea’s ta kiss ya either way. It’s just that this flagon’s, oh, this flagon’s full ‘o ace stuff. And I wanna share it wivya.” 

You managed to push him off of you and spin out of his reach. Jamison turned, leaning against the counter and holding the edge as if it were a lifeline as he watched you. 

“So why offer me a choice,” you asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “You’re going to try and kiss me anyway.” 

“Well, yeah, but I _want_ ya ta like it.” He smiled and took up the bottle to take a long swig. “It’s always, always _nicer_ when ya get ta _choose_ , innit?” 

“And those are my two choices.” You shot a dry glance to the bottle. “Get drunk with you and kiss you, or kiss you in order to avoid getting drunk with you?”

Jamison’s face screwed up as he thought over your words. “Yeah, that sounds ‘bout right.” 

Laughing at your flat stare, he winked at you. “Still lots left, darl. ‘S ace.” He blinked into the middle distance, then giggled. “Space.” He paused. When you shifted, staring towards the food you knew was in your pack, his attention shot back to you. “Oi, d’ya ever think ‘bout aliens?” 

“Sometimes,” you answered, fighting back laughter at the sudden change of topic. “Do you?” 

“Yeah.” He fixed the opposite wall with a plaintive look. “See, I’d always thought they’d be on tha _moon_. But nah, ‘stead all we’ve got’s up there’s a buncha, buncha killer _apes_.” 

“Well what about Mars?” Oh good, you had some honey-oat granola bars still. “There could be aliens there.” 

Jamison hummed and you could hear the bottle sloshing again as he took another sip. “Along with them colonists what we’ve not heard from for, what, forty years? Wonder what’s happened to ‘em…” 

“They’re probably only now finishing with setting up the colony,” you said, not wanting to consider other possibilities as you closed your bag again. “NASA did say it would take several years for them to even reach Mars.” 

Jamison hummed again. “Wonder if there’re any human Martians yet.” He giggled and pushed away from the counter towards you. “Prolly almost as serious a business out there as it is back, back in Oz.” 

Well if that didn’t just bring your mind back to the fact that he wanted to take you home and play house. “Of course it would be serious business,” you said, earning a chortle as you stood. “But I have something that’s just as serious right now.” 

You turned, ready to offer the granola, only to bump directly into Jamison. Your arms pinwheeled as you tripped backwards in shock. How had he gotten so close? 

“Oops! Careful, darl,” he tittered, wrapping his free hand around you and pulling you against him. Your mind stuttered as you brought your hands to rest against his chest. He was smiling softly down at you. 

Why did his smile make your heart beat faster? 

No, wait, it wasn’t because of his smile. Clearly it was due to the shock of almost falling. 

“Ay, ya bird, there you are.” Jamison’s arm clenched around you, bringing you more fully against the hard line of his torso. “Yanno what,” he said, looking down his nose at you with hooded eyes. “You are really fucking pretty.” 

Maybe it was the sincerity with which he spoke or your proximity, but you couldn’t fight down your blush or the way your heart skipped a beat. “Th-thanks,” you stammered. 

Jamison snickered and drew small circles on your back with his thumb. “Now, what is it you’ve got that’s serious business?” 

Somehow the granola bar in your hand no longer seemed that serious. What was serious was what his low voice was doing to your knees. Your eyes took in his blown pupils, his sharp cheekbones, his lazy smile. 

If you were to kiss him would you taste the fermented milk? You could smell it on his breath after all, and oh! He was leaning in! Your noses were brushing! 

This was fine. This was totally fine. 

No, wait, no it wasn’t! 

“You should eat this,” you said suddenly, shoving the bar in his face and blushing deeply. 

Jamison released an odd, squawking whine. Then his free hand left your body to grasp at the granola bar, catching your hand in his. He pulled it away and glared suspiciously at the item you both were now holding. “What’s this then?”

“Granola.” 

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that is what the wrapper says. Why’s it in my face?” 

“Eating food will keep you from getting drunk.” Jamison snorted in amusement at your words. “More drunk.” 

“I ain’t drunk, darl,” he said, turning your hand over and pressing his lips to your knuckles. “ ‘S just good grog. And I’m just, just enjoying it.” 

Jamison smirked against your hand as he shifted his hold on the bottle. “Oooh, _haha_ , I’ve got another idea,” he announced suddenly as he pulled you towards the tattered couch in the corner. “You’ll like this one. I think. Maybe.” 

Your feet followed him even as you scrabbled at the way his hand was clasped around yours. “What is it now?” 

He flopped down on the couch, his left leg falling over the back as he pulled you down with him. You landed with a grunt, legs between his and one arm pressed into his tattooed shoulder. Staring down at him, you fought off another blush as he grinned wickedly up at you. 

“How’s ‘bout a trade?”

Oh no. Not this again. 

“What sort of trade?” 

The hesitant suspicion in your voice just made him snicker as his left hand moved back to your waist. 

“I’ll eat the granola bar if you drink some grog.” What a little _shit_. 

“That is a terrible trade.” 

“No iznot.” Jamison leaned up towards your lips. You moved back slightly, leaving his head to fall back on the lumpy couch. “It’s a fair trade.” 

“Because we’ll both,” you began. 

“— get what we want,” he said, joining you in a chorus as he nodded. “Yeah. That’s it, darl. You’re, you’re learning!” 

His hand was running up and down your back, each time passing over a greater area. It was very distracting. So, too, was the way he was licking his lips. And you were curious about the drink, after all. 

Well... What was the harm? It’s not like you would get drunk in the time it would take to eat a freaking granola bar. 

“Fine,” you said, pushing away to kneel at the opposite end of the couch. “I’ll take that trade.” 

Jamison smirked at you and chortled, licking his teeth as he pushed himself to a sitting position. His leg fell from the top of the couch to box you in, his peg leg mirroring the movement on your other side. His eyes were dark as he dragged them slowly over you. With a noise somewhere between a hum and a giggle he leant forward, elbows on his knees, to hold the bottle to your lips. 

“Ladies first.” 

You were almost certain that he was trying to psyche you out again. For whatever reason. Well damned if you were backing down, despite the rising desire to blush and turn away from his searching gaze. This guy needed something in his stomach to counteract the alcohol. 

You held his eyes as your hand slid to the bottom of the bottle and tipped it in his hand. Oh, wow. That was… like drinking skim milk that had gone off slightly. But with an alcoholic burn to it. You gagged, breaking eye contact. Jamison laughed as he took another sip himself. 

“It gets, gets better,” he assured you, leaning in so close that his hair brushed your forehead. “G’arn, have another sip.” 

Coughing, you pushed away the bottle. “Trade” was the only word you managed as you tore open the granola in your hand. 

Huffing, Jamison snatched up your hand and with it brought the bar to his mouth. He paused, breathing hotly onto your hand, before taking a small bite. As he chewed, he shot you an expression that seemed to say ‘There, I did it. Are you happy?’ and all but shoved the bottle back to your lips. 

“Trade,” he said around the food in his mouth, chewing rapidly and swallowing as you tipped the drink into your mouth once more. 

This went on for some time, the two of you conducting what some would call a series of micro-transactions. The bottle seemed to grow lighter much faster than the bar disappeared. But that didn’t seem to bother you. Nor did the way Jamison had started to kiss your fingertips in between taking a sip from the bottle and taking a bite of the dwindling granola bar. 

Hey, wait a second. 

“You’re not, not playing _fair_ ,” you said, hating how slurred you sounded already. 

Jamison laughed, shooting you a savage grin as he dragged his mouth slowly from your hand. “You never, never said anything ‘bout me having ta _stop_ drinking, darl.” He held the bottle back to your lips. 

“Your turn. Drink,” he commanded, staring intently at your lips when they obediently parted. 

The beverage had long since started tasting sweet. You let out a pleased note as it washed over your tongue. Jamison echoed the sound with a hiss of air through his teeth. The alcohol coiled warmly in your stomach, hitting just right as you licked your lips. 

Jamison leaned in closer, hand clenching yours tighter. His breath hit your lips. And with it realisation hit you. 

The little shit had _planned_ this. 

“You’re _trying_ to get me drunk,” you accused as you pushed away the bottle. “And you’re, you’re cheating.” 

Jamison snickered, shoving the rest of the granola bar in his mouth and tossing the wrapper over his shoulder. “No I’m not,” he said, sounding far too innocent as he washed down the food with more alcohol. “It was you what failed ta add any rules to our trade. S’not my fault you just agreed to what I wanted.” 

Your brow furrowed as you tried to think. “So what was it you wanted, exactly?”

Jamison grinned, pressing a kiss to your palm. “From you? Lots’a stuff.” He chuckled. His lips dragged slowly down your wrist. “But right now I want ta just ask you something what’s been bothering me.” 

“And what is that,” you breathed, eyes trained on his. He paused, turning his cheek against your forearm as he loosely interwove his fingers with yours. 

Opening and closing his mouth, he stared over your shoulder for a few moments, blinking rapidly. 

“D’ya really not like me,” he said at length. His golden eyes turned to you forlornly. “ ‘Cause I like you. I really like you.” 

You felt as if the words had stolen your breath away. There was a lot running through your mind, but all you could find the words for was “Why, why get me drunk to ask that?” 

His laugh sounded false as he grinned. “Experience’s taught me that when, when people get pissed up they tend ta tell the truth. Or they tend ta be shit liars.” Now his laugh was more real. “Shit liars ta match how shit-faced they are.”

Oh. Well you had some experience at lying. Acting. You meant acting. Clearly this would easy to answer. 

But oh, how fine he looked as he pressed a kiss to the pulse point in your wrist. How sad he’d looked when he asked his question. How telling it was that he thought you’d only tell the truth if you were drunk. 

Your fingers curled over his as you pressed your hand to the side of his face. The other slid from the bottle up to his shoulder, and from there to his neck. Jamison pulled away from your wrist, watching you with a guarded, searching expression. 

What would you say? Would you maintain the status quo by lying to yourself and him? Would you finally admit the truth, and forever change your relationship? 

In the end, you didn’t say anything. Instead, you impulsively shot forward and captured his lips with yours. 

The bottle bounced loudly on the wooden floor as his right hand came to press you closer to him. Growling low in his throat, he forced you backwards on the couch, pulling you down as he pinned your hand against the armrest. Your free arm wrapped around his shoulders as you fought to get a leg out from in between his. 

Jamison whined into your mouth. He tasted like honey, oats, and the sweet alcoholic milk. Pulling back slightly, he shifted his left leg between yours. His prosthetic hand ran down your side as you moved to wrap your thigh around his hips, leaving you both gasping into each other’s mouths. 

The metal hand found the hem of your shirt and was instantly joined by it’s mate. Your hand, now free, dragged along his jaw and up to weave into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Jamison gasped and pulled away for a second to watch as he smoothed your shirt up over your breasts. At the sight, he let out a sharp laugh and he returned to kissing you. 

Biting would be a better word, however. “Oh, _fuck_ , darl,” he whined, moving along your jaw and neck. “You gotta, gotta tell me.” He breathed in sharply through his nose as he sucked at your collarbone, nearly ripping your shirt in two in his attempts to bare your body to his eyes. “At least tell me ya _want_ me. Tell me ya want this.” 

You hummed, bringing your mouth to his ear and biting it sharply. “I want this,” you whispered, pulling him more firmly against you. “I want _you_.” 

He hissed, squeezing your chest tightly as he rocked against you. Slowly he came to a stop, looking up stare into your eyes. “And d’ya, d’ya like me,” he asked so softly it was almost a whisper. 

He began laughing when you paused. You stopped him with your mouth.

Jamison’s laughter continued in his chest as he pressed into you insistently. His breath came through his nose in short, harsh notes. Something tickled briefly across your cheek, leaving a cold trail behind.

He pulled away with a snort. You were briefly able to see his twisted expression before his prosthetic hand shoved your face to face the lumpy couch cushion. “It’s, it’s fine if ya don’t like me,” he hissed into your ear. His other hand shoved its way down your pants. “I don't care. It’s _fine_.” 

The way his hand moved was such a foreign mixture of pleasure and pain that you couldn’t help gasping. He snickered at the sound, trailing an open mouth over your skin. Suddenly, he bit at the corner of your jaw. You cried out at the way his teeth sank into you, certain he had drawn blood. Whining now, your fingers dug into his shoulders as your legs spasmed beneath him. 

Jamison moved down your throat, leaving loud, wet kisses and bruising bites. An odd whining laugh echoed from the back of his throat as he took both hands to your bra and pulled. You turned, ready to yell at him as the seams snapped, only to have your face shoved back to the side by the cold metal of his hand. 

His mouth was on your chest next, licking and biting eagerly at the revealed flesh. “So, so pretty,” he murmured between short, glass-like laughs. “Oh, gonna mark you so _good_ , mark you as _mine_.” 

You could feel his hand fiddling with the opening of your trousers, and your hands shot down to help him. He hissed, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulled the fabric from your legs and started to shuck off his own. His hand left your cheek momentarily as he pulled off his jumper. It was back before you thought to turn and look at him, pushing your face more firmly into the couch. 

“Oh, God, please,” you whined as he settled back between your legs. His hand was once more moving at that pleasurable and painful angle. 

You moaned, feeling the way his warm body pressed to your every curve. The way his dick pulsated against you. Your hands scrabbled across his back, drawing long, bleeding lines that left him hissing into your neck.

“Please what,” he rasped, grinding his hard cock against you, leaving sloppy wet trails with each pass. “Please _what_.” 

You whined and bucked against him. “Please, _please_.” 

Jamison laughed. Your eyes rolled up to see him looking down at you with a toothy grin and an unreadable gaze. “Say you’re mine.” 

The words flew from your mouth wantonly. You thought only about how his fingers had stopped pinching and rubbing at your clit. How much you wanted what was now lining up with your hole. You repeated the phrase he wanted, hoping to speed him on. 

He laughed again, and moved his fingers to block your view as he pressed into you. “Mine,” he hissed against your throat as he fucked you so hard you screamed.


End file.
